A week ago today, my beloved cat Gizmo died :0(
For the last six months she battled with feline asthma, and though she rallied after several setbacks, there was literally no breath left. I am thankful that she is no longer in discomfort or pain while struggling to survive - but I am utterly, uttlerly heartbroken.
For the last six months she battled with feline asthma, and though she rallied after several setbacks, there was literally no breath left. I am thankful that she is no longer in discomfort or pain while struggling to survive - but I am utterly, uttlerly heartbroken.
The week after losing our dog Kye just over two years ago, I wrote a post as a tribute, a celebration, to her - and today I'd like to do the same for Gizmo.
I claimed Giz as a six-month old kitten from a family I knew who'd found her to be too much and were going to put an advert in the Trade It and sell her (when you see the pic in a mo, you'll understand why: she was very, very fluffy and very, very beautiful!). An animal in the Trade It, I ask you?! I couldn't have that - and so began the tale of a cat who should've been named Mischief, for that's what she was. My then-housemate wasn't a cat person and kept putting Giz out when I wasn't there and, feeling that this wasn't fair, I asked my Dad if he would take Giz on - and, of course (for we are animal-people!), he said yes. And so began twelve years of an amusing, loving and giving relationship.
In April 2012, I was having one of my usual lazy mornings in bed: propped-up on pillows, reading a good book, supping from a lovely cuppa. The morning was made because my little miaow miaow had joined me on the bed, curled up beside my toes...and her back was touching them. Every time I shifted, she moved so that we continued to touch...and the following lines just crept into my mind.
Cat Clan
On the bed, we both commune: me duvet-deep on propped-up pillows,
she purring a syrupy rumble like sweet treacle, treading my legs in a
kickback to kittenhood, each push-pull of paw a pseudo mother-milk;
at my feet, back paws touching my toes; contact is crucial to her – our –
wellbeing, a paw-shake of family. She is wise, this contented little-lioness.
Sleep stretches her out: tummy tufts soft and deep as a thousand downy owls;
whiskers recline, twitch her dreams – what mouse, what bird is this she sees?
Paws busy with pink pads like gum is full of bubble, un-popped as yet but
soon to be: mog-mischief will strike when the imp-itch is upon her; in play
she courts contrariness: needs door-open but then open-door is boring.
Tail twitches once, twice, thrice: agitates then awakens her; she stirs and,
with a lick and a scratch, is revived – a puss-cat on patrol once again,
she jumps down and trots across the room with a rub-here and a rub-there,
surveying, marking her territory. I feel her absence, miss her near me but
respect her still: she is regal now, intent on matters of cat-state that no simple
human can disturb or dissuade. The intimacy she allows me time and again is
humbling, warming. Loving. I reciprocate this call: I too am one of this clan.
